“No?”
She shook her head. “I came—to meet—you!” she said.
He looked at her slowly—“And when did you know that I would come?” he asked.
“Last night—in the moonlight. I was so afraid you would speak there—in the moon! I did not want the moon to get in,” she said. “I wanted you to speak in real, plain daylight—and then, of course, you know, it’s Tom’s gown and not the moon. Everybody has the moon!” she laughed.
“This is a very little place, this alcove,” said Eldridge. He was looking about him at the green walls of the alcove—thinking of the sun and the fields and of the road up through the hills——
“But it’s where I went berrying with Tom,” she laughed.
He smiled at her. “Then it is as big as the world—and the sun and all the fields of the sun!” he said.
Outside the curtain the music tinkled dimly, and there was a lower music still of all the glasses and words—and there was a silence in the alcove.
“So there has never been any one—any one but me—” he said, “in your alcove!” He was looking at her hap-pily.
“No.” Her lip waited on it—and closed. “There was some one—” she spoke slowly. “It seems a queer thing to tell. It had no beginning and no end!” She waited, still looking at it.... “It was a man—an old man—that used to sit over there to the left, at a table by himself. I could see him through the curtains. Even when they were almost closed I could see him. He always sat there, and always alone.... I did not notice him at first.... I do not think any one would have noticed him—at first. He was almost ugly—or he seemed ugly.” She was smiling at her thought.... “And one day suddenly I saw him as he really was, as he was inside—very gentle and strong and wise—and not wanting to hurt any one or to let any one suffer—more than they had to. I knew, some way, if I should go up to him and speak to him, that he would understand me—and help me. I should have liked to—speak to him. Of course it is really the same as if I did.”... She seemed thinking of it. “But I didn’t. I never saw him more than a dozen times, I suppose. But I used to think about him, and it helped me. I should have trusted him anywhere—and been willing to go with him—anywhere in the world. I don’t believe he was very clever—but it rested me to think of him—just as a big, homely field rests you—and the way the music did that first night—when we knew each other——-”